


crimson headache, aching blush

by fir8008



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: M/M, Mostly Canon Compliant, POV Dexter Grif, Pining, Season/Series 15 Spoilers, Sexual Content, canon typical language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-25
Updated: 2019-05-25
Packaged: 2020-03-17 03:07:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18956593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fir8008/pseuds/fir8008
Summary: Grif and Simmons get trapped in that storage closet(and then it gets worse - getting left on a moon, going a little crazy)(and then maybe it gets better - reuniting in an underwater prison, saving the world again, finally talking about feelings)





	crimson headache, aching blush

**Author's Note:**

> (so like i don't know how to tag things apparently and definitely forgot how to write summaries)
> 
> hello! this took me way too long to write for what it is - like just rehashing the grimmons content from season 15 in grif pov (and probably not well) - but i hope you enjoy it! i tagged this mostly canon compliant because i haven't watched seasons 16 or 17 yet (probably should have, but i got a bug to write this and just went with it) so maybe season 16 starts off in a different place than i imagined, but anyway, it's just fanfic. 
> 
> sexual content is at the beginning only, canon typical language abound  
> also, spoilers for season 15 everywhere!
> 
>  
> 
> Title comes from Halsey's "Heaven in Hiding"

Grif would think with an alien light beam shooting straight into the sky and hopping everyone up on sex hormones he wouldn’t be able to formulate any coherent thoughts other than probably “penis.” Luckily, the alien sex beam has really only lowered his inhibitions and given him a hard on without him trying very hard, and he can still think somewhat clearly. Which is a good thing, because he’s locked in a storage closet with Simmons. 

And Simmons is riding him like his life depends on it. 

Grif really has no complaints about this. He’s been in love with Simmons since Blood Gulch, not that he’d ever admit that, and he’d certainly never admit to fantasizing about this exact moment. Well, maybe not this moment exactly, usually Grif fantasized about a bed and a heart to heart talk before the big bone. But he’ll take the storage closet and activating the Temple of Procreation since honestly, he never thought this would actually happen. 

Simmons is bouncing up and down on his lap, eyes screwed shut, face flushed almost as red as his hair, as his armor. Grif has to say, he loves the view, sweat trailing down Simmons’ thin chest, the red flush of his usually pale skin clashing even more obviously against the robotic parts of his body. Grif presses his hand to Simmon’s abdomen, his dark hand another contrasting splash of color. He savors the way Simmons feels - the tremor of his breath, hot flesh, cold metal. 

Unfortunately, Grif’s thoughts can’t stay focused on Simmons, or at least not focused on the parts he wants to focus on. Simmons is taking his dick like a pro - Simmons! the one that the entire army rags on because he’s the most likely to die a virgin! - and it makes Grif wonder if Simmons had been sitting on anyone else’s dick lately. The idea makes his stomach clench as if Grif has any right to feel upset about that. 

Grif rolls his hips up to meet Simmons’ frantic bouncing and suddenly Simmons tosses his head back, his voice crackling through the tiny closet. “Daddy!” 

Grif’s hips stutter but Simmons doesn’t miss a beat, if anything he speeds up, babbling as he rides Grif harder. Grif knows Simmons has daddy issues - for fuck’s sake, he wouldn’t kiss Sarge’s ass so hard if he had a healthy relationship with his old man - but he hadn’t known the issue had become a kink. Clearly, it was one though, since Simmons was chanting “daddy, daddy, daddy,” under his breath every time Grif rolled his hips into him. 

He kind of wishes the alien sex beam had put a stop to his coherent thoughts because it strikes Grif suddenly that Simmons’ eyes have been screwed shut since they’d torn each other’s clothes off and for all Grif knew, Simmons was living out his own fantasy of fucking Sarge while on Grif’s dick. It makes Grif’s stomach twist again.

Grif digs his fingers into the undersides of Simmons’ thighs and Simmons yowls suddenly, eyes springing open. His hips are still moving, though the movement is more like grinding and less like bouncing now, and Simmons lets out a small whimper. 

“What’s my name?” Grif says, throat suddenly feeling parched as he opens his mouth to speak. “Say my name.”

Simmons rocks his hips back against Grif’s. “Grif,” he closes his eyes again. “Grif.” 

“That’s better,” Grif says, sliding his hands up over Simmon’s legs, resting them on his narrow hips as he begins thrusting up into him harder. Simmons picks up his pace again too, and soon he’s bent over Grif and both of them are panting. 

“Dex,” Simmons finally chokes out. “Dexter!”

Grif digs his fingers harder into Simmons’ hips when he comes, the feeling of him clenching around him pushing Grif over the edge too. Simmons collapses onto his chest, panting and sweaty, and Grif immediately gathers him into his arms, holding him as close as he can without squeezing him to death.

The words “I love you” are on the verge of tumbling out of his mouth but Grif swallows them down as he runs his fingers through Simmons’ sweaty hair. The heat is dissipating in the storage closet and the Temple of Procreation’s effects must be wearing off because Grif’s thoughts are suddenly a lot more clear (or maybe he just isn’t distracted by fucking Simmons) and it occurs to him that Simmons has never dropped any hints that he’s gay, and yet he has probably just lost his virginity to Grif. Grif knows Simmons, and he knows that Simmons is going to majorly freak out once the fog in his head clears. 

So while he can, Grif wants to enjoy holding Simmons in his arms. 

Grif wishes he had Wyoming’s time distortion device so he could slow down this moment, where Simmons is resting his head on Grif’s chest and curling up closer, where Grif has him firmly wrapped in an embrace. It’s just the two of them, the storage closet and the Temple have melted away from the edges of Grif’s mind and the only thing that matters is the two of them breathing together. 

It ends with Simmons’ sharp intake of breath and him suddenly pushing his way out of Grif’s arms. Grif lets him go easily, though all of a sudden he feels very dirty and guilty watching Simmons go pale and look around the storage closet. Simmons has never been hard to read, not even when he’s completely covered up in armor, so there’s no way to disguise his panic when he’s completely naked.

Grif wants to do something, say something, but words fail him as soon as Simmons rolls himself into a ball. In the small space, Grif can hear Simmons’ labored breathing and knows that Simmons is completely focused on staving off a panic attack. 

His mouth feels dry as he starts to question how the Temple really affected Simmons. Grif has never known Simmons to be very forward when it came to dating or sex, hell Simmons can barely talk to women at all, so suddenly losing his virginity to a guy in a storage closet while under the influence of alien sex hormones from a laser in the sky was probably way too much for Simmons to handle. Grif tugs his boxers back on along with the rest of his civvies and gathers Simmons’ discarded clothing. 

“Here,” he says, once he’s picked up everything. 

“Thank you,” Simmons is barely speaking, his voice almost impossible to hear. He turns his back to Grif as he starts pulling his clothes back on. Grif can faintly hear him whispering to himself. “My name is Richard Simmons. Captain. Captain Dick Simmons. I’m part of the Red Army of Project Freelancer. I’m currently on the planet Chorus.”

Grif frowns. He’s heard this kind of grounding technique before. Agent Washington does this sometimes. Grif’s stomach twists again. Was Simmons talking to Wash about the best ways to stave off panic attacks? Grif berates himself immediately. What does it matter to him if Simmons has been talking to Wash? Simmons deserves to learn coping skills and if Wash can give him that, Grif should be happy. 

Once Simmons is dressed, he glances at Grif nervously. There’s color in his cheeks again and while his chest is still heaving with the effort to breathe, he doesn’t appear to be in a full panic anymore. 

“We don’t have to talk about it,” Grif says. “We can act like this never happened and that’s fine.” It’s not fine, not remotely fine, but Grif can tell Simmons didn’t want this to happen so Grif can do his part and not let this change anything. 

Someone rattles the doorknob, making them both jump, and finally the door to the storage closet swings open. Grif doesn’t know whether to be happy or distressed to see Caboose on the other side of the door. 

“Oh, hey guys! What were you doing?” 

“Nothing,” Simmons says hurriedly, immediately pushing past Grif and Caboose to escape the closet. 

 

It’s the Blues. It’s always the fucking Blues. 

Every single mess they’ve gotten into from Blood Gulch until now has been their fault and Grif is so fucking tired of it. They’re supposed to be retired. The civil war - the civil war on Chorus they had nothing to do with! the civil war they had no stake in and were tricked into fighting! - drained them, Grif thought. They all thought Church was dead for good. Of course he wasn’t. He’s worse than a cat with nine lives. He can’t fucking stay dead. 

And there’s this reporter now, asking about what happened after the war, and they have to bring up the Temple, and all of a sudden Simmons is being weird again, and worse he’s thrown his lot in with Sarge and the Blues to go find Church again. They’re all ready to give up fucking everything for a cryptic, blurry message that could have come from anywhere in the fucking galaxy. Tucker and Caboose are already chomping at the bit, raring to go. 

And this reporter. She has the nerve to follow Grif into the cave when he just wants to be alone, talk to him like she knows him, bring up Kaikaina when Grif hasn’t seen her in years. He doesn’t even know if he’ll see her again, not only because Lopez allegedly strangled her to death in Blood Gulch, but because the Blues are going to get them all fucking killed running around the entire galaxy looking for Church. Again. 

Grif can’t take it anymore. He doesn’t want to live like this anymore, not knowing if he’s going to live to see the next day, not knowing if he or Simmons is going to die before Grif gets his shit together and just tells him how he feels. 

So he quits and they don’t see it coming. And Tucker is pissed and Caboose is distressed and Sarge sounds confused as Grif walks away. He can hear Sarge yelling at him, but he keeps walking. 

Simmons hadn’t said anything. Grif strains his ears. He wants to hear Simmons’ footfalls right behind him, even if it’s just to pull on him and demand he stay. But no one follows him and Grif watches the ships leave the moon, leave him. 

 

The first couple of days are pleasant. No one is there to bother him or boss him around. No one is around to take pot shots at him or make slick remarks. Grif can sleep as much as he wants, eat as much as he wants, and be as lazy as he wants and no one is there to judge him for it. 

Quite honestly, the first few days are nice. 

But then that short blissful time passes, and Grif finds himself thinking of something he wants to tell Simmons, but he turns and no one’s there. Suddenly it hits him that he’s the only human being on this moon. Everyone left. His fellow Reds, the Blues, Wash, Carolina, and the reporters all left him here. 

Grif is completely and utterly alone. 

It’s then that Grif thinks he starts to go a little crazy. He talks and no one answers, so he starts talking to himself. For some reason, there’s a ton of volleyballs in a storage container so he takes some paint and gold foil and makes volleyball versions of the others. He even, apologetically, makes one for Church. The Church volleyball keeps deflating so Grif constantly has to re-pump air into it. He teaches himself Spanish so he can properly imitate Lopez. The Doc volleyball keeps rolling away and Grif can’t find it for days. Sometimes it just shows up again, much like the medic himself. 

A couple weeks pass and the regret starts sinking in. 

He holds the Simmons volleyball in his hands, tries to imagine the human face behind it. The pale skin, red hair, the glowing cyborg eye, the metal plate that holds it in place. Grif has never needed anything like he needs to apologize to Simmons. It wasn’t fair of him, to say he was quitting him, to let Simmons and the rest of them leave. Simmons has never been hard to read and Grif has started piecing together the cryptic comments Simmons has made about his home environment, his sycophantic devotion to Sarge, and has come to the conclusion Simmons has a shitty deadbeat dad. Simmons probably has abandonment issues.

And Grif abandoned him. 

It’s not like Grif’s home life was a rose garden. Obviously not, with him taking care of Kai on his own both before and after his mom joined the circus. But at least they had each other and Grif could pour all his energy into her and she could be his reason to keep going. It didn’t sound like Simmons ever had anything like that. 

Another week passes and the volleyballs start taunting him. Everyone was always kind of a dick to Grif, but they were generally all dicks to each other, but Grif’s dialogues get more abusive the more time he spends on the isolated moon. They berate him more, blame him more, and they keep getting meaner. He keeps trying to apologize, but the volleyballs cut him off, mocking him. An apology will never be enough. By now, they could all be dead and Grif would never know. Furthermore, no one would know Grif was still here on his own. 

It serves him right for abandoning his friends - dying a raving lunatic, alone on a moon. 

 

When Locus shows up, Grif thinks he’s finally lost it. He’s just seeing a vision of his death with Locus in front of him. Hell, maybe he actually did die on the Staff of Charon and all of this has just been purgatory and Locus is finally here to drag him to hell. 

But Locus is real and he has Lopez’s head and they need to go rescue the others. Grif is so happy to speak to another living, breathing human being (and decapitated robot head). Even so, Grif loads up Locus’s small ship with his volleyballs. Locus has a plan, so all Grif has to do is follow it. 

He gets captured slinking around the Blues and Reds’ base, par the course, but what he doesn’t really expect is to get walked into the same holding cell the rest of the guys are in. 

“Grif?!” 

Simmons’ voice is like music after too much time spent apart. Grif can’t believe they’ve both lived to see this day. So even with Temple trying to shut him up, Grif finally apologizes and it’s like a massive weight has been lifted off his chest. And honestly, whether or not they get out of here alive becomes less and less important because the fog they’ve clearly all been in starts lifting. 

Grif gets his chance to apologize. They find out Church is actually gone. Sarge comes back and actually apologizes. Locus successfully saves the Freelancers and they move on to the next phase of their plan. 

Simmons fills him in on what he missed while Dylan is looking for something. This timeline altering death machine is apparently gone, but there’s still something she’s looking for. Jax is wandering around so finally, for the first time in weeks, it’s just Grif and Simmons, side by side. 

But they’re not really alone, so Grif’s words still come out self-deprecating. Anyway, he doesn’t know if Simmons has really forgiven him yet so Grif puts himself down some more. He’s their hate glue, he says. Without him, clearly they were all doomed to turn on one another. 

“Well, I’m glad you’re back.” Simmons says. 

Grif smiles, even though he knows Simmons can’t see it behind his helmet. “It’s good to see you too.” Because it is. Grif thought he’d die without ever seeing Simmons again. 

The awkwardness is disappearing between them as they keep affirming, yes, they’re glad to see each other, when Jax appears in their peripheral vision. 

“Dude, what the fuck are you doing?” Grif asks. Of course, it’s not enough that his dark thoughts had interrupted his staged reunion with Simmons via volleyball, real people have to interrupt their actual reunion too. 

Jax trains his camera on them. “Don’t mind me. I’m just getting in position for the kiss.” 

Grif smacks Jax in the face with the butt of his rifle and when Dylan asks what happened to Jax, Grif says he slipped. 

 

The ambush happens in the blink of an eye. Grif turns and all of a sudden, there are two maroon armored men fighting with each other, imploring Grif to shoot the other. One of them must be Gene, the Simmons clone from the Blues and Reds. Simmons had complained about him, but Jax had mentioned how identical they were. Jax wasn’t kidding. Grif feels mildly bad for pistol whipping him. He should have asked if there was any way to easily tell them apart. 

Grif doesn’t know what to do. 

He needs to do something, or else one of them is certainly going to get hurt. Hopefully the Gene guy, but Grif really can’t tell which one he is. Simmons has never been very strong and Grif has never seen him carrying a knife so he’s inclined to shoot that one, but when they both talk they sound identical. 

“Why are we here!?” 

They both stare at him, still locked in trying to overpower the other. “What?”

“Why are we here!?” Grif repeats. “Answer me now!” 

“Because we need to stop these evil fucks, that’s why!” 

“No, we don’t know why we’re here.” The maroon soldier holding the knife - Simmons, his Simmons, the real one - looks at Grif. “It’s still one of life’s great mysteries, isn’t it?” 

Grif shoots Gene in the shoulder and he goes toppling over the side of the ledge. Grif wants to run to Simmons, tear both their helmets off, and kiss him until neither of them can breathe. Unfortunately Gene is still clinging on for dear life with one hand, begging for mercy. Simmons thanks Grif for saving him and then shrugs and says he’s feeling too lazy to pull Gene up. Gene starts screaming abuse up from where he’s hanging on and Grif huffs about how annoying he is as he and Simmons leave him there. 

 

It’s not exactly a neat and tidy ending, but then again it never fucking is. They avert the end of the world, so that’s a plus, probably worth some more awards. Vic sacrifices himself to save them, but Grif can’t really say he’ll miss the guy. Sure, he was just a dumb AI but he did let them run around a box canyon in the middle of nowhere shooting at each other for years under the pretense they were in an actual civil war and honestly, Grif doesn’t miss anything about Blood Gulch. Wash is in the hospital but his recovery is beginning to show signs of promise. Caboose is mopey and befriending robots, Grif just hopes they’re not the kind that’ll try to blow them up if given the chance. Kai is with them now too and Grif wishes he could cut Tucker’s head off with his own sword so he doesn’t have to hear Tucker cracking jokes about sleeping with her. Grif tries to balance being relieved she’s alive and happy to see her with his usual aggravation that she can’t stop embarrassing the family. But that’s normal. Everything is normal. Almost everything. 

Being with Simmons still isn’t back to normal. 

“You wanna talk about it?”

It should almost be a running gag the way they never talk about anything, so Grif doesn’t expect it when Simmons just nods. They sit side by side and stare at the night sky - this place actually has a night - and Simmons clears his throat. 

“You know, when I was younger, my dad walked out? Did you ever sort of figure that out?” 

Grif nods. On the moon, he had plenty of time to overanalyze every word Simmons ever said to him, including the many cryptic things he said about his father. Grif knew Simmons had daddy issues and over time it had become abundantly clear to him that his father had walked out. 

“Because of that I’m afraid of getting abandoned, or left behind, or treated like I don’t matter,” Simmons continues. “So when you walked away from us on the moon, saying you were quitting us, saying you never liked any of us…” Simmons’ breath hitches. “It was like my dad walking out on me all over again. But worse. So much worse.” 

“I’m sorry-” 

“I know,” Simmons cuts him off. “I know you’re sorry. And I forgive you, honestly. But back then, I didn’t know what to do. Suddenly you weren’t there anymore, when you’d been by my side since basic training. I kept on thinking, all those years we spent together, all that time and you never came to like me. I knew I could be a dick to you, but you were a dick to me, and we were dicks to Donut, and Sarge was a dick to us, and fuck Lopez, and I thought it was just how we were. I never thought you actually didn’t like us.”

Grif wants to interrupt but his tongue is frozen in his mouth. 

“I ended up thinking to myself, all that time we spent together, and I wasn’t good enough for you to stay.” 

“What?” Grif blurts.

Simmons’ face is turning red. “You know, it was right after the incident with the Temple, and you said we didn’t have to talk about it and could pretend like it never happened. And I know!” Simmons rushes to cut Grif off. “I know now that you said that for my benefit, because I freaked out, but I really thought you said it because you felt like you made a mistake. So when we were all going to ship out and you quit, I thought it was because of me. I really thought you were leaving because I wasn’t good enough.” 

“I’ve been in love with you since Blood Gulch.” Grif blurts. 

“You what?” 

“I’ve been in love with you since Blood Gulch. I never said anything because I didn’t think you’d ever feel the same way and I was fine just getting to be your partner. After the Temple, when you were panicking, I thought I had taken advantage of you, that I got to live out my fantasy of being with you but you were so freaked out. That you didn’t want that. I felt like I did something wrong so I thought if we both acted like it never happened, we’d eventually go back to normal. And when that message came, I just thought it was over. I was sick of getting shot at and shooting at people and worrying about whether or not you and I were going to make it out alive. I didn’t want to keep thinking about one of us dying before I could tell you that I love you.” Grif sighs. “When I was walking away from you all, I wanted you to follow me. I wanted you to stay. But you left, so I figured you all hated me.” 

“I don’t hate you,” Simmons says. “I never hated you.” 

“Not even when I left?” 

“Not even when you left. I was hurt; I was angry, but I didn’t hate you.” 

“Simmons?” 

“Yeah?” 

“About the Temple,” Grif sighs. If Kai were right here she’d probably rip him a new one for wanting to chicken out now. In fact, if Grif does chicken out now he’s pretty sure she’ll bully this story out of him and then ream him a new one. “Did you…” 

“I didn’t realize I loved you until you were gone!” Simmons all but yells in his face. 

Grif doesn’t think he even has time to blink in shock before he seizes Simmons by his collar and smashes their mouths together. It wasn’t the smartest of ideas, their foreheads and teeth collide and the metal side of Simmons' face kind of hurts to collide with, but it is imperative that Grif kiss Simmons senseless right now. 

“I love you,” Grif says, and it feels so good to say, especially when he’s out of breath and still holding onto Simmons’ collar and Simmons is staring back into his eyes. 

“Love you too,” Simmons licks his lips. Grif resists the urge to kiss him again. He slowly lets go of Simmons’ collar in favor of taking his hand. They lapse into comfortable silence, Simmons leaning on Grif’s shoulder.

“You ever been to Hawaii?” Grif asks suddenly. 

“No,” Simmons answers.

Grif squeezes Simmons’ hand. “When things calm down, when we retire for real, let’s go? We can take walks on the beach.” 

Simmons squeezes his hand back. “Of course.” 

Grif smiles and lets his body relax into Simmons’ side. They’re probably going to stumble their way into some fresh new bullshit next week, but right now things are okay. And yes, Wash took a bullet in the throat and Church is dead and Grif never got that pizza he was telling Locus about, but he has Simmons, and Simmons loves him back and by Grif’s standards that’s more than he ever expected.

**Author's Note:**

> girls don't want boys girls want canon grimmons


End file.
